Years ago when I first started losing my hair my friend, Glen, asked, “Would it bother you as much if everyone else in the world was blind?”

“No, probably not.”

You see where this is going, don’t you?

Who am I more worried about looking good for? Other people or God?

I hit birthday forty-seven a few months ago. If I’d been 47 one-hundred and fifty years ago, I would have been an old man. Correction. I would have been a dead man. The average life span for a man born in 1860 was around thirty-five years of age. This life is quick. Then what?

As C.S. Lewis says, “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day [in eternity] be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.”

When I look at my life in the context of eternity, the inconsequential things shrink to grains of sand and the things that will last for eternity—relationships with my wife, my sons, my friends—rise to the size of giants.

May I be set free of the petty and step into the eternal in every moment.